


Moonlight Hunger

by kashiichan



Series: Hunter's Heart, Hunter's Mouth [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexuality Spectrum, Assumptions are bad, Aziraphale is gayer than etc, Biting, Crowley is demisexual, Demisexuality, Enthusiastic Consent, Hand Kisses, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Other, Red Pants, Romance, erotic touching, feelings are hard, having a physical sex has become virtually effortless by now, love is not an escalator, no beta we die like men, they've both been on Earth too long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 13:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20064937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashiichan/pseuds/kashiichan
Summary: "Life is not so much about beginnings and endings as it is about going on and on and on. It is about muddling through the middle." — Anna QuindlenIt's been nearly five months since this thing between them came out of the shadows, and Aziraphale is the happiest he's ever been.





	Moonlight Hunger

It's been nearly five months since this thing between them came out of the shadows, and Aziraphale is the happiest he's ever been.

After their first romantic session[1] on the couch, Aziraphale realised that it was safe to turn his previously-implicit invitations into explicit ones. The next time Crowley stopped by, Aziraphale told him that he was welcome to stay over at the bookshop whenever he liked. Crowley had raised an eyebrow and pointed out that the angel didn't even _own_ a bed, as if that was supposed to mean something obvious.

Crowley kept going back to his flat for the next few nights while Aziraphale thought about it. Crowley frequently napped on the couch with no real complaints[2], but perhaps "proper sleeping"—as the demon had once referred to it—had different requirements? Putting that question aside, the idea that Crowley would sleep in his bed if he _did_ have one meant that Aziraphale was suddenly much more interested in making a purchase.

Mindful of Crowley's more modern tastes—he wants the demon to sleep in it, not laugh at it—Aziraphale had been careful with his choice. It's a gorgeous thing: dark cherry mahogany, elegant carved lines, and beautiful metal curlicues on the headboard[3]. He organised for it to be delivered with the practiced ease of someone who's been involved in far too many gallery openings, but decided to bring it up the stairs himself; the bedroom is technically too small for a bed of this size[4], and there's no reason to confuse the poor delivery-people.

When he'd nervously invited Crowley upstairs to look at it, one corner of the demon's mouth had curled up. "Not bad, angel," he'd said quietly, stroking the fingertips of one hand along the edge of the footboard. "I can work with this."

Now Crowley takes him to bed each night[5], curling up close and falling asleep as Aziraphale reads by lamp-light. The angel looks over from his book occasionally to smile at him fondly. He feels truly blessed to be allowed into Crowley's private life; to be trusted enough to watch over him while he sleeps. The angel often finds himself wanting other things as well, but that's his own problem and he won't burden Crowley with it.

Tonight the demon seems restless, tossing and turning as he tries to find a comfortable position. Aziraphale eventually tires of this and pulls him close, ignoring his half-hearted protests[6]. It doesn't take long for Crowley to melt into his body heat, pressing closer into it like the snake he is. After he winds an arm around the angel's waist and pushes his face into the angel's stomach—wrapping around him as much as he can with four separate limbs—he finally falls asleep.

Aziraphale manages to prop his book up so that he has a free hand, and uses it to stroke through Crowley's hair. The demon mumbles something inaudible, then goes completely boneless against him. He's heavy, but it just makes Aziraphale smile fondly.

"Sleep well, dearest," he murmurs softly, and goes back to his book.

*****

"Why haven't you kissed me yet?" Crowley asks, voice low. The demon has shifted a little as he slept, and his head is now resting on Aziraphale's thigh instead of being pressed against his belly. One of Crowley's arms is still curled loosely around the angel's waist; the blankets have been pushed down just enough to reveal a splash of bright red cloth over the sharp curve of Crowley's hip.

Aziraphale looks down at him, taking a moment to fix the image in his mind, then carefully marks his place with a bookmark and puts the book down on the bedside table.

"Do you want me to?" Aziraphale asks, brushing back the strands of Crowley's ever-growing hair[7] with his fingertips. The angel hadn't realised he'd woken up; usually the demon sleeps until at least nine in the morning, and it's not yet five o'clock.

They've forgotten to close the curtains, and the moonlight is drawing pale crosses on Crowley's skin. Aziraphale wants to press his mouth to them, to follow the path they've made along Crowley's body until the demon is arching up underneath his teeth.

"Maybe?" Crowley says guardedly.

"You don't sound certain," Aziraphale says gently. He'd tried to enter into this new version of their relationship without any expectations, but had privately thought that Crowley might not actually be interested in sexual persuits. The demon has never shied away from physical contact with him, but that's not necessarily because of sexual desire; there are many other reasons to want to be close to someone. The demon wields his body like a weapon—even the way he _walks_ is practically indecent—but Aziraphale has never heard any tales about that kind of temptation, and Crowley hasn't asked him for anything.

"Don't you want to?" Crowley asks, pouting a little. The angel can hear it in his voice, even if he can't quite see his face.

"My dear, I've been in love with you since 1941," Aziraphale says fondly. "The moment we met up again after our little trick[8], all I could think about was kissing you."

"So why haven't you?" the demon asks again, sounding confused.

Aziraphale slides his hand down to cup Crowley's cheek, and the demon turns his face into it. "I've wondered if you wanted me to," he says softly. "Sometimes it seemed like you did. But I won't kiss you unless _you_ tell me you want me to."

"We've been sleeping together for months," Crowley mutters into his palm, "but you haven't... I'm trying to be patient. I know I go too fast."

"I caught up with you a while ago," Aziraphale says simply. "Lie back, won't you? My spine isn't as flexible as yours, and I want to see your face."

"Sap," Crowley mutters, but he's already pulling away. Aziraphale shifts down to lie beside him, propped up on one elbow. He watches Crowley roll onto his back, pushing his arms up above his head to arch into a deep stretch. He makes a satisfied noise, and Aziraphale's heart starts beating a little faster.

"Look at you," Aziraphale says admiringly. The demon's shirt has ridden up with the movement, revealing a narrow line of pale skin above the waistband of his red pants.

Aziraphale is aware that Crowley's never let anyone else see him like this: relaxed and slightly rumpled in worn-out clothes[9], with his long legs bare and hair falling into his eyes. Aziraphale loves him with all of his heart, and wants to touch him so badly. "You're lovely."

"Oh, shut up," Crowley says, but he seems pleased.

"If you want something, you need only ask," Aziraphale says, gently touching Crowley's cheek; the demon turns it towards him immediately. "I'll give it to you if I can."

Crowley goes a bit pink. "It can't be that easy," he says at last. His arms are still lying extended above his head, palms resting upwards, as if waiting for something. Aziraphale thinks of placing his own hands on those wrists before kissing him, wanting to feel Crowley arch underneath him as he holds him down. He doesn't know where these desires come from, and he doesn't know how to talk about them. Whenever he thinks about telling Crowley how he feels, what he _wants_, his mouth goes dry.

"It wasn't," the angel reminds him, "and at some point, it may no longer be. But until our respective Head Offices decide what to do with us, we have time. There's no rush."

"Feels like a bit of a rush might be a good thing," Crowley says, grinning a little. "Here we are, both waiting for the other one to make the first move."

"May I kiss you, Crowley?" Aziraphale murmurs, voice warm.

"What, you still need an invitation?" Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Always," Aziraphale says, moving a little closer. "Have you kissed anyone before?"

"Haven't really wanted to," the demon admits slowly. "I've _been_ kissed, if that counts."

"What did you think?" Aziraphale says, hesitating.

"I wasn't expecting it," Crowley says, frowning a little. "I suppose it was fine."

The angel thinks about this for a moment, mentally sifting through the stories Crowley has told him over the years. "Woodstock?" he guesses.

"At least 400,000 people and most of them were high," Crowley confirms. "I'm honestly surprised it only happened the once."

"You still haven't said whether _I_ can kiss you," Aziraphale points out.

"Obviously," Crowley says. "Yes."

Aziraphale kisses Crowley's cheek, just once, then rubs his own cheek against it. He yearns to taste him, to lick into Crowley's mouth and open him up, but restrains himself. He only gets one first kiss with Crowley. They have time.

"Angel?" Crowley says, sounding confused.

Aziraphale kisses his mouth, just a soft press of lips. Crowley sighs into it, bringing his arms up at last so he can clasp his hands together behind the angel's neck.

"Is that all you've got?" he asks, raising one eyebrow.

"Certainly not," Aziraphale says, pitching his voice deliberately low; the demon's eyes widen in surprise, and he lets himself kiss Crowley again. This time he lets just a bit of his desperation through, pressing Crowley hard against the mattress with his body but staying gentle with his mouth.

"I'm so pleased you convinced me to buy a bed," he murmurs at last, and is rewarded with a full-body shiver. He wants more, but makes himself pull back.

"Ngk," says Crowley.

"It's early," Aziraphale says happily. "We can talk more about this later, if you'd like to get some more sleep."

"I don't know how you expect me to go back to sleep after _that_," Crowley mutters.

"Oh, that was nothing," Aziraphale promises, feeling practically giddy. He's allowed to kiss Crowley! This is wonderful. "Plenty more where that came from."

"_Angel_," Crowley says, sounding impressed.

*****

Crowley ends up sleeping until noon.

Aziraphale is puttering around in the kitchen and has just started thinking about filling the kettle when Crowley appears in the doorway, yawning widely[10]. He's still wearing his band shirt and those bright red pants; Aziraphale tries to ignore the spark of heat that ignites inside him. He can't stare at Crowley just because he's got bed hair and has forgotten to put trousers on; it's very inappropriate. "Good afternoon," he says carefully. "Tea?"

"Sure," Crowley says absently, slouching against the wall next to the open kitchen door. He seems totally comfortable with his state of undress. "Look, I need to tell you something."

"What is it, dear?" Aziraphale says, concerned.

"I don't, uh," Crowley says, then falters. "You're freaking out."

"I am not," says Aziraphale huffily. "I am expressing an appropriate level of concern."

"You said I could ask for anything I wanted," Crowley says awkwardly, "but I don't really know what I want."

"How could you not know?" Aziraphale asks, surprised. "Doesn't Hell have orgies all the time? Did you never go?"

Crowley grimaces. "Did you meet Leonard while you were there?" he asks. "Extremely tall, three long horns?"[11]

"Nobody offered a tour," says Aziraphale dryly.

"Rude," Crowley says. "Well, he's the Grand-Master of the Nocturnal Orgies of Demons–"

"Good Lord, is that his actual title?" Aziraphale exclaims.

"–and he's the reason that most of the attendees have been whittled away to, ah, let's say the most committed."

"That terrible, is it?" Aziraphale asks hesitantly.

"There's just so many _forms_ you have to fill in," Crowley says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Who's got time for that?"

"Are you telling me that you never attended an orgy because there was too much paperwork involved?" Aziraphale asks, amused.

"I've got lots of _theoretical_ knowledge, angel," Crowley says, rolling his eyes. "Hard not to, after six thousand years. I've just never put any of it into practice."

"Would I be the first to touch you, then?" Aziraphale asks carefully.

"Well, unless you count that random hippie in Bethel," Crowley says slowly, as if he's only just realising what he's admitted. "_I_ certainly don't."

"Did you ever want to, though?" Aziraphale asks curiously. "After receiving this body, that was one of the first things I did with it."

"_What?_" Crowley splutters.

"Well, there were so many sensations to deal with," Aziraphale explains. "I needed to understand how they worked[12] so that I could learn to tune them out. Bodies are very loud, my dear."

"Right," Crowley says, going a bit pink. "Well, it's just never really been a priority. I've been busy!"

"Oh, darling," Aziraphale says fondly. "There's no shame in it."

"I mean, all demons have their thing[13]," Crowley says hastily. "Osmodeus is big on lust, Valefar likes greed, Lusk uses envy... Most demons tend to aim for some form of the big seven, but I've always been better with the lesser sins."

"Generalised chaos," Aziraphale nods. "I've noticed."

"Lil'[14] took me out with her once," Crowley continues, "but I couldn't get into it. She rolled her eyes at me and told me to try something else."

"Would you perhaps like to try some things with me?" Aziraphale suggests, heart racing at the thought. "Once you know what you like, you'll know what to ask for."

"Yes," Crowley says, sounding relieved by the offering. "You do things to me and then I'll tell you if I don't like them."

"That's quite a dangerous thing to say," Aziraphale says hoarsely. His love and his lust are both surging up within him, and he's not sure how well he'll be able to contain them if he's given free reign over Crowley's body. They've barely kissed, and that was difficult enough.

"I trust you," the demon says simply, shrugging one shoulder. "Our side, remember?"

"Crowley," Aziraphale says. His voice has automatically dropped into a lower octave, and his chest feels full. They have time, yes, but there's no reason to _waste_ it.

"Yeah, angel?"

"I hope you're not wanting that tea any time soon."

"You want to– _Now_?" the demon asks, surprised.

"It's already been seventy-seven years," the angel says wryly. "Perhaps I should recite some poetry instead?"

Crowley's breath catches.

"Yes, I _did_ notice what it does to you," says Aziraphale thoughtfully, taking a step towards him. "You think I don't know how to read you by now?" He adds a bit of a sway to his hips, watches the demon's eyes flick down to watch him move. "Would that be alright, my dear?"

"Yes," Crowley agrees helplessly, watching the angel stalk closer.

"_I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair_," Aziraphale murmurs, moving forwards step by slow step. "_Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets._"[15]

The wall behind him rapidly becomes the main thing keeping Crowley upright. It's a subtle shift—more of a change in posture than anything obvious—but Aziraphale is watching him too closely to miss it.

"_Bread does not nourish me_," Aziraphale says softly. "_Dawn disrupts me; all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps._"

Aziraphale stops in front of Crowley and reaches out to grasp one of his hands. "_I hunger for your sleek laugh,_" he says lovingly, turning it over so he can press his mouth against the pulse-point of Crowley's wrist. "_Your hands the color of a savage harvest._" He can feel it thrumming fast under his lips.

"_I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails_," he murmurs, then sucks one of the demon's fingers into his mouth. He runs the edge of his teeth against the soft whorl of Crowley's fingertip, letting his tongue drag against the skin as he slowly draws it back out.

"Angel," Crowley groans.

Aziraphale gives the same treatment to all of the fingers on his hand, then presses a soft kiss to Crowley's palm. "_I want to eat your skin like a whole almond,_" he murmurs.

"Yes," Crowley says hoarsely, offering his other hand, and Aziraphale lovingly repeats his previous ministrations.

"_I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,_" he says at last, pressing one more kiss to the soft skin of Crowley's wrist before looking up.

Crowley, who seems to have completely forgotten about blinking, is watching him. His slitted pupils are blown wide, sharp black ovals in the yellow sea of his eyes, and he's absently biting his lower lip[16].

Aziraphale reaches out to cup his cheeks lovingly in his hands. "_The sovereign nose of your arrogant face,_" he continues, stroking his thumbs gently across the demon's cheekbones. Crowley sighs, letting his eyes slide closed. "_I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,_" the angel murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to each of Crowley's eyelids.

"_I pace around hungry,_" Aziraphale breathes, lightly dragging his nails like claws across the demon's cheek, scratching gently down the sides of his neck and into the hair at his nape. "_Sniffing the twilight, hunting for you, for your hot heart._"

The angel curls his fingers into the demon's too-long hair and pulls a little. Crowley moans in response, tilting his head back. Aziraphale leans in, presses a kiss to the underside of his jaw, then bites gently.

"Harder," the demon demands. His hands come up to clasp at Aziraphale's shoulders.

Aziraphale bites down until Crowley is shaking under his mouth, then soothes the marks with his tongue. "_Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratué_," he says triumphantly.

"Enough," Crowley says desperately. "Aziraphale, enough."

"I'm sorry, my dear," Aziraphale says worriedly, pulling back just enough to be able to meet the demon's eyes. "I got quite carried away."

"No, it's..." Crowley says, swallows hard. "Take me to bed, angel."

"Darling," Aziraphale says gently, "you don't have to. There's no rush."

"I'll _tell_ you if I want to stop," Crowley hisses at him, frustrated. "Stop being so bloody self-sacrificing; it's not sexy."

"As you like," Aziraphale says lovingly, and takes him to bed.

**********

Clicking on the arrows below will bring you back to the related footnote within the text:

> [1] They spent nearly five hours cuddling; after so long, it was enough to just hold each other. Eventually they untangled themselves and went out for dinner at their usual Thursday restaurant. One of the wait staff noticed that they were holding hands on the table, and everyone in the kitchen suddenly needed to take a five-minute break. [↩]
> 
> [2] The couch is an overstuffed tartan monstrosity, but it's damn comfortable; most of Crowley's issues with it are based purely on how it looks. However if he's asleep when he's on it, goes the logic, then he doesn't have to look at it. Problem solved. [↩]
> 
> [3] Aziraphale likes [their new bed](https://imgur.com/6mzG6Wf) quite a lot. It's beautiful, yes, but the design _itself_ also allows for quite a few intruiging possibilities. He contacts the store directly, and they are more than willing to charge him an exorborant amount of money in order to replace the headboard's standard wrought iron curlicues with ones made from Type 316 stainless steel, electrochemically colored to match the rest of the bed. The end result is the _look_ of wrought iron, with the strength of steel. He doesn't know what Crowley is into, if anything, but there's no reason to rule out any of the possibilities. [↩]
> 
> [4] Unfortunately, Aziraphale didn't remember to measure the room until after he'd ordered the bed. Crowley would have just _expected_ the room to accommodate whatever was put in it, but when Aziraphale found he needed a bit more space than he'd realised, he asked the building if it could help. It generously obliged, and now the inside of the shop is just a little bigger than it would seem from the outside. [↩]
> 
> [5] When they first started going to bed together, Crowley would snap his fingers to miracle-change into silk pyjamas before getting under the blankets. When Aziraphale had asked why he'd chosen those particular garments, the demon had just shrugged; he'd always worn them, because that's what he'd been expected to wear. After about a week, the demon finally gave up on the pretense; now he seems to enjoy the process of stripping down to his pants, dropping everything he'd been wearing onto the floor, before pulling a band shirt over his head. Aziraphale never lets himself watch Crowley doing this, because he isn't sure whether he'd be able to look away; it's much easier to complain about the pile of clothes he leaves behind. [↩]
> 
> [6] Aziraphale has noticed that Crowley rarely initiates physical contact with him, but is always receptive when it's offered. The demon's protests have become rather transparent by this point—tonight it was "you'll get too warm", despite knowing how easy it is for the angel to regulate his own body temperature—and Aziraphale hopes that he'll soon stop feeling like he's obligated to provide excuses. He's had 6000 years to learn how to read Crowley, but ignoring that sort of indication still makes him uncomfortable. [↩]
> 
> [7] Crowley has always kept up with the fashionable hair styles of the day, but whenever he thinks he can get away with keeping it long, he usually does. He turned it into a secret game in 115 A.D.: whenever Aziraphale commented on the length of his hair, Crowley would go get it cut short again. He once managed to grow it all the way down to his lower back before the angel said anything. His hair is just brushing past his shoulders at the moment, and Aziraphale has started absently playing with it whenever they sit within reach of each other. Crowley hasn't called it yet, but he knows that the game is probably finished; he enjoys the angel's attention too much. [↩]
> 
> [8] Their body swap had been performed somewhat under duress, but in a few other ways it had been rather fun. Aziraphale will never forget the look on Michael's face when he asked for a miracled towel, or the way Crowley's borrowed hips shifted under his skin as he moved. [↩]
> 
> [9] Unlike the silk pyjamas, Crowley's band shirts clearly aren't conjured; they've all gone thin around the seams, and Aziraphale can feel faint echos of crowd-borne love woven through their worn threads. The demon must have carefully hidden them away over time, because some of the tour dates go back quite a long way. [↩]
> 
> [10] About a month after Aziraphale had first shown him the new bed, Crowley stayed over on short notice and forgot to bring one of his band shirts to sleep in. Aziraphale offered to make space for some of them at the bookshop, Crowley responded with a joke about moving in, and Aziraphale quietly said that he liked the sound of that. They've not discussed it in any official way, but Crowley has spent every one of his nights since then in bed with Aziraphale. [↩]
> 
> [11] Leonard is the actual name of a demon in the [Dictionnaire Infernal](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leonard_\(demon\)), and that is indeed his listed title. [↩]
> 
> [12] Aziraphale is talking about touching his _own_ body, mostly so he could map the nerve pathways. Crowley's mind skipped right past that idea and ran off on its own. [↩]
> 
> [13] In the study of demonology, infernal spirits are often [classified](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Classification_of_demons) by domain. This means that they are attributed to a specified sphere of activity or knowledge (e.g. envy), or a specific moral sin or questionable behavior to which some people are prone (e.g. jealousy). It's similar to the gods of classical mythology; each have their own tasks and abilities according to their authority, and each interact with mankind in their own unique way. In this particular _Good Omens_ universe, the Domains of Sin are: Lust (Osmodeus), Gluttony (Beezelbub), Sloth (Belphegor), Greed (Mammon), Envy (Belial), Wrath (Leraje), Pride (Leviathan), and Discord (Andrad).
> 
> As the King of Discord, Andrad is responsible for any demons who don't fit into one of the seven capital sins; his underlings therefore have a rather strange mixture of abilities. Among them are: Crowley, who quickly discovered a talent for generalised chaos; [Amdusias](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_demons_in_the_Ars_Goetia#Dukes), who is always accompanied by the sound of trumpets and is therefore put in charge of the cacophonous music they play in Hell; [Phenex](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_demons_in_the_Ars_Goetia#Marquises), who teaches the sciences and is an excellent poet; and [Crocell](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_demons_in_the_Ars_Goetia#Dukes), who is very good at finding natural hot springs. [↩]
> 
> [14] "Lil'" is Lilith. In Jewish folklore, Lilith appears as Adam's first wife; she was created at the same time and from the same clay as Adam {see Genesis 1:27}. In the 13th-century writings of Isaac ben Jacob ha-Cohen, Lilith left Adam after she refused to become subservient to him, and then would not return to the Garden of Eden.
> 
> Some sources say that Lilith "coupled" with the archangel Samael, and that's why she didn't want to return to the garden. It's not true, but since both of their reputations ultimately benefited from the rumour, they never bothered to correct it. [↩]
> 
> [15] Pablo Neruda, "Intimacies: Poems of Love" (translated by Stephen Tapscott). [↩]
> 
> [16] According to page 272 of the book, this is totally canonical behaviour. [↩]

**Author's Note:**

> The story title was inspired by "[Snow and Dirty Rain](http://genius.com/Richard-siken-snow-and-dirty-rain-annotated)" by Richard Siken:
> 
> _"There's a litany of dreams that happens_   
_somewhere in the middle... A page of the book where we_   
_transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands_   
_and record stores. Moonlight making crosses_   
_on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one."_
> 
> The series title was taken from the same poem:
> 
> _"I had to make up all the words myself._   
_The way they taste, the way they sound in the air..._   
_I made this place for you. A place for you to love me._   
_If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is..._   
_I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters_   
_kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter's heart,_   
_the hunter's mouth, the trees and the trees and the_   
_space between the trees, swimming in gold."_
> 
> Go buy his book, _[Crush](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/96259.Crush)_; it's wonderful poetry, and absolutely worth the money.


End file.
